Aug 272011

In zero air
By the jaguars caged in their griefs
And landrovers digging up bones in the park,
Dirt salts the dime-hole of her going.

By liquid cats,
Emptied of minutes and prayers in the waking zoo,
Both half animal and man in my shambling frame
I pace to praise the honored hour of her death.

Her grave grows hair
And gravel marks the shadow where I walk,
Freezing among moonbeams, while the icicles' stalks
Rise from eye to eye in the blizzard's blast.

Now how unsound
By the gold-honoured straws of dawn unbound
And looped from the walking category of sorrow
By a drake's water-shilled beak do I stand and cry?

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